I'm driving with slow arms,
the road keeps a tolerant beat.
My loves do me no harm,
the Sarahs and Zoes and Petes.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Friday, December 14, 2012
OXBASKETINGthe white oxen in the shallows
wreaking subficial violences on
the pomegranate espaliers
which undersleep your cherished summers.
the summer wethers prance
an unsudden unwickering
of sodden osiers
spayed bitch casts her bait
and germinates unangelled in oily solitudes
while rosy dangling boy-heels beat
a garden's pulse against the quay.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
... which is to say that for all the density of my teaspooned words, for all that the nothing was curved precipitously to your void, that god's trigger-finger had been ripped from the hard hand which feeds, that the resilient vacancy of your centre was bound more tenuously than language between the molecules of the word spleen, which is to speak by halves of your holeness, for all my spat polish and my tuesday suit, I was the inept shoe directed vaguely at a cold hearth. I was a needle taken up against the fire.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
when that salt life or this, insipid, ends,
when ordinary ruth has been deployed
and while the tame dogs dice for dividends,
some corner drunk will slur into the void:
he was, like me, an old habitué
who loved, and tired of, the red café.
Friday, December 11, 2009
hard shoes for strangers and swift blades for friends:
kosher betrayals while industry ends
at a danish meridian drawn on the sea
where the last crippled man fells the last standing tree.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
... which was so resilient an hour ago,
which insinuated itself into my voids
and constructed there,
of the nothing,
and wooden-legged bunnies close-held
to the chest
... which made of the silences
between our words
something lighter than air,
than having to be.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
seen a man standin' over a dead dog by the highway in a ditch.
he's lookin' down kinda puzzled, pokin' that dog with a stick.
got his car door flung open, he's standin' out on highway 31
like if he stood there long enough that dog'd get up and run...
[bruce springsteen, "reason to believe"
from "nebraska", 1982]
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
HET TOE TE PASSEN SYSTEEM VOOR DE FUNDEERING WORDT IN DE EERSTE PLAATS BEPAALD IN VERBAND MET DEN UITSLAG VAN HET GRONDONDERZOEK. (1)
she hasn't asked for easy anchors, pins
dropped from the gunwales of her womb to grasp
homesoil, its thyme- and tidemarks on her shins,
the staple's quick conjunction with the hasp.
she charts her course by no-one's reassuring
and when she docks she'll be herself her mooring.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
these oaks were never sacred. and the young
summer legs of women, and their com-
and elsewise pliant berries, always hung
beyond the grasp of tantalus... and from
these mountains' clefts, of course, there never sprung
the stream which dulls the blade and whets the tongue.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
the holy drinker cracks his third for auld
lang syne, and crackling for his rosh hashanah.
let boland raingods piss on this his cold
and unmooned mecca, let medina call.
he'll slit his styx-dipped tendons just to fall
on trojan soil: tonight he is no runner.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
risk every notion which your catalogue
accumulates: allow fit lambs their legs.
contest the unexamined truth, first dog
his heels who claims your bent knee, or who begs…
endure the small weight of an empty sky.
live this your life, with your own heart comply.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
clocks and calendars - machines which capture
hours, and cages for our bird-free days -
let these slip by
(overlook, in their precision's rapture):
every unguessed laugh, spontaneous phrase,
once you've found your own path and you've mapped your
self's course, freed from time's and custom's ways,
expect to fly...
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
and so began the rest of his life. here was the coffee-shop table, wristwatch, two measured spoons of sugar and-a-bit-for-the-spirits, broadsheet crossword with the old unsolved seventeen blank blocks: the appurtenances of an older man... breakfast in observatory. four-seater, void of finger-wagging gods, un-get-thee-hence-boyed, small beneath my sight, and a slice of urban roadway which you know begins dead and ends dead and entertains angels between with the old the ancient threats and the uncommon blessings and so began the next of his life observing angels and no angels and the shit of observatory dogs softly softly moleculing away down black sidewalks westward blackriverwards under april showers sooted black to the looned river the full-mooned the ultimate dumb bay drubbed guguletu-sooty-black… newly-coated saint-patron of the peri-urban slice through which pass but once the no-good do-good any-good-therefore-that-i-can-do prophets of prosperity and indolence, the negligéed and the negligent, weird bearded queer seared holed-soled scrabblers for the colonel's secret wingspan's radius the sacred ulna the four-leafed unbroken breastbone of the groundbound trill-streeted orthogonal each-man-in-the-cell-of-himself free range fowl among eagles wheezing stealth-machines through blistered stratospheres… get thee hence, boy, and snag thou eagles for thy trophy-room. snare thou eagles and angels and fairies and tooth-winged mice for thy specimen-cabinet and all manner of wingèd thing and every any beautiful beast hovering sootily over the dark hearth of this your day. be thou. be thou the air about them. be thou, cloaked in its smoggy lining's stealth, the hound of these heavens, sound thou the horn of the heavens' beasts' hound, the leavened breast's unbroken groundbound horn's sound… and so was a beginning, newly-cloaked in the forbidden alternative, newly-armed... in your left hand a neither, in your right the nor… don thou the eagle's harness, boy, and feather your fingers into the tree-rat's sign. resist, new-plumed, the cigaretting of the sun and the winestaining sea.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
three hundred and eight words for the son of thunder. and when, upon st catherine's heath, do we dare meet again? on anne's, or emily's, or fleance's waxwinged, charlotte's harried, web?... but wait! flies lindbergh through the eastering sun, or snag his healing righteous wings on crosswinds breathed by mountains in the night?... yes, wait, for eight-and-hundreds-three of words do no da vinci make. nor he, unmade, his ornithopter cause to sail black-rigged, cliff-clear, heath-hovering through a kittyhawk dawn bronze-fleeced and dry while roundabout-and-not-a-drop-to-drink affianceds fly and barrel-rolling banquo's boldly bank… hail to thee, and every glamorous cloudburst be upon your unumbrellaed cinderellaed jack-o-lantern. damned be him and damned be he: may sons of thunder blessèd be? accused, arraigned, condemned those are who spurn the rock to kiss the star and hail and hail and hail to thee, appropriating destiny. in thunder, lightning, reign you still, pandemonic gristle-mill… but, barber-basined knight erroneous, keep the vigil, burn your books: don quixotic cardbox vestments against these post-socratic crooks… and reign and reign and reign thou meekly ever, sweet heir of dulcinean weather…
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
another cannon-cart, another dirge:
jij weet misschien niet eens ik zing voor jou.
another vincent fallen at the verge
of daylight. let the paparazzi know
but keep unlit, until we've rid the rye-
stalks of our stalker (one more thaler tagged
for one more dismal day), the salesman's eye...
give theo what is his. this body's bagged.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
[for francois wherever he is,
the original mirrorman]
this silvering of beards, these graded, guilt-edged
archaeologies of self, re-readings
of our texts of love and vague displeasure:
the mirrored man, confronted with his silt-dredged
simulacrum, shrugs, the sins conceding
of which he alone can be the measure.
a body is a flower
but for the looking alone
another man's table
another man's vase
a word is a fish
and the weave of one man's basket
leaves another's gills gasping
another's tail flapping in the spring sunlight
a thought is a hound
and its soft mouth poaches, for trophies,
another man's game
another man's meat
[previously published in the journal SHARP!, port elizabeth, 2005]